


Dear, Beloved; We Can Just Dance to This

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Background Hernando Fuentes/Lito Rodriguez, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: They’re dancing again, this time to a more upbeat pop song, and Riley’s smiling so hard it hurts. Will spins her before pulling her closer, chest to chest, and he can’t help but wonder why they don’t do this more often.“We should,” she says, as soon as his thought enters her mind.





	Dear, Beloved; We Can Just Dance to This

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the song "Dance to This" by Troye Sivan and Ariana Grande.

_ Young ambition, _

_ Premonition, _

_ See me spending every night with you _

 

It’s another Friday night, and the week has flown by so fast both Will and Riley feel like it was just yesterday they were taking the same train route to the same venue. Riley’s found a good gig, a place that pays her well above what she ever earned in London, and it’s not too far from their apartment either. The location is maybe the best feature of the deal for them, especially on nights like tonight when Will is exhausted from a long work day and Riley enjoys curling up beside him and watching him with adoration as he scrolls through his phone in a half-awake daze. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him they have to catch the train in twenty minutes, especially when his lips quirk up in a smile at the newest cat video that’s gone viral. 

He’s the one to remember she has a show, and when he shoots up in bed and rushes to put on his shoes, she just laughs. She’s already dressed and ready to go, and she doesn’t mind being late anyways. The fans are usually too intoxicated to notice if a half hour goes by past her expected show time, let alone a couple minutes. 

 

_ I don’t wanna sleep tonight, _

_ I just wanna take that ride _

 

    “You know, you don’t always have to come to every single one of my shows,” Riley says once they’re outside, walking briskly to the train station. But he knows she loves his support, loves looking out into the crowd and seeing him grinning at her and doing stupid dance moves just to make her laugh into her microphone. The rest of the cluster usually shows up, too, every now and then; Capheus, especially, is amazed by the atmosphere of her raves every time and makes sure he tells her profusely afterwards. 

    “Are you kidding?” Will replies. “I’d never miss one of your shows.”

    “Well, technically, you wouldn’t have to miss it, even if you did stay home,” Riley points out. “You can enjoy it from the comfort of our bed, up here.” She taps a finger on his temple, and then bumps her shoulder against his. 

    “Yeah, but it’s not the same. I love watching you spin.”

Riley knows that Will isn’t lying. He’d never had time to go to too many shows growing up; his father was never thrilled about the idea of him wandering into some sketchier parts of the city to do so, and once he had began training to become a police officer there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to do everything he wanted to, let alone go to a concert. 

But Will has grown used to the bright lights and spill of alcohol on his shoes ; he never wears his good ones there anymore, he learned that lesson the hard way the first time when a drunk girl tipped her entire cup of rum on the floor he just so happened to be standing on. He doesn’t even mind the ringing in his ears the next day, since it serves as a reminder of the night before and the spectacular show Riley Blue—  _ his  _ Riley Blue— put on for the city of Chicago. 

She’s popular here, and he isn’t surprised at all. He’d told her in one of their first conversations that Chicago had a wide and welcoming music scene, and she loved it as much as he hoped she would, maybe even more. 

She’s comfortable in Chicago. She’d walked around on her first day here with Diego like it was her longtime home— and through her connection with Will, it kind of was. Returning for the second time, now with Will by her side, Riley couldn’t help but feel that she was exactly where she was meant to be, at the perfect time, place, and mindset. Given the turmoil of the past two decades or so of her life, it feels like a miracle that she’s found that place. 

The way she feels on stage, playing music that brings her alive and watching people in the crowd experience that same emotion, strikes her as another miracle. 

Will has brought Diego along a few times, who’s given Riley many compliments, especially after she took his request and added some remixed A$AP Rocky songs to her setlist. But he’s busy with his wife and their baby, and Riley and Will tell him that’s far more important, something they both wholeheartedly mean.

When Riley’s show ends, Will meets her by the back entrance. There’s a security guard, for the intoxicated patrons’ sake more so than Riley’s, but they both feel a bit more at ease because it, especially given the danger they’ve only recently escaped from BPO. Riley takes pictures with fans, signs their tickets and beer cans and takes their demo CD’s they hope she’ll listen to. She does, every now and then, but she doesn’t want to crush their dreams by letting them know that giving her their songs won’t get them any closer to stardom; she doesn’t even have a manager. 

A fan— male, tall, burly and definitely older than her— looms a little too close for their picture, hand snaking around her waist with bony fingers, and he reeks of vodka. She’s experienced this before too many times, even been asked on dates, and she does the same thing she does every time. She calls over Will. 

    “Gropey fan,” she whispers into his ear, hand coming up to his shoulder, warm and familiar. “You should kiss me now.”

Will smirks. “I have no objections to that,” he says with his voice at a regular volume, making sure the man hears him before he leans in for a kiss. It’s quick but it lingers, Riley’s fingertips coming up to Will’s jaw to hold him in place, and then she pulls away with a smile. The fan walks away and almost trips over a Corona bottle.

 

_ You know we’ve already seen all of the parties _

 

Riley and Will walk home hand in hand and she marvels, as she’s been doing every night for the past few months, at how warm it is for a winter night. 

    “In Iceland in wintertime, this would be considered a heat wave,” she laughs, even as Will shivers. 

They’re stopped by a few fans, and even random strangers, inviting them to the parties happening at clubs down the street. They decline; they’ve seen it before, and they’re all strikingly similar. Keg stands being done in every corner of the room, like that didn’t occur enough in college, people rolling joints and reluctantly smoking cigarettes once the weed is gone— it’s something Will had seen enough of in his teen years, and also something he probably should bust, seeing as half the people in the clubs are minors, or at least under twenty one. But he’s off duty, and even though that shouldn’t stop him, he doesn’t care. He isn’t in the mood to ruin anyone’s good time, especially when it isn’t disturbing anyone else. 

Riley’s sick of those parties, too. 

    “I went to so many when I first started DJing,” she reminisces. “They’re not even fun the first few times, everyone just wants it to be so they do what everyone else is doing until they’re so gone they can’t even remember where they are. For awhile, I liked that, but my body hated me for it.”

They did drop in to a party last week, just for the hell of it, because someone said—  _ lied _ — that one of the Chicago Cubs’ players was there, and there was no cover. When they left twenty minutes after entering, Will realizes that they should have known, since the stranger couldn’t even remember the supposed player’s name. 

 

_ Don’t need a place to go, _

_ Just put on the radio, _

_ You know what I wanna do _

 

Riley turns on music when they get home; it’s soft and relaxed, much more ambient than the songs she’d mixed for the past hour and a half. There always seems to be music on in their home, and Will loves it. It reminds him of her even when she’s not here, makes it feel like she is. (Although, she’s usually with him, even when she’s out. Visiting makes a lot of things easier, especially grocery shopping when she doesn’t know what kind of bread he wants.) He tells her that, and she blushes. 

    “See? We don’t need any fancy parties,” she says, taking Will’s hands and swaying a bit before reaching over to turn up the volume. “We can just dance to this.”

Will raises his eyebrows a bit. “I wouldn’t say any of the parties that happen this late at night are fancy. Did you see that person vomiting outside of the venue?”

Riley rolls her eyes. “I didn’t, fortunately, and you know what I mean.”

She intertwines her fingers with his, pulls away just a little so there’s space between them. “This,” she says, voice a bit more hushed than before, “is better than any of that.”

 

_ Dear, my lover,  _

_ Do that thing we never do sober _

 

Will’s a good dancer on his own, but Riley knows he’s even better because of her skills— and Lito’s. She knows exactly when he joins the party, when Will’s moves become far more dramatic and include more flair than even she can manage. 

    “I was sleeping but I heard the music, I love this song so I had to join you,” Lito says with a grin, and suddenly Riley and Will are both face to face with a rather confused, but not concerned, Hernando. 

    “Mi amor, what are you doing?” he mumbles sleepily, and Lito gives one dramatic twirl before climbing back into bed beside him. 

    “Good night, have fun!” Lito calls, waving to them as if they’re video chatting rather than standing three feet apart, and once they’re back in their apartment, Riley and Will laugh.

    “He was drunk,” Will says breathlessly. The taste of undrunk tequila lingers on his tongue. “I can feel the inebriation even now.”

    “I’m glad he’s happy,” is all Riley says back, and for a split second she’s beside Hernando in bed, half asleep, experiencing Lito’s affection and drowsiness move into her body. 

    “I also don’t think alcohol was the determining factor for him to dance like that,” Riley admits once she’s back with Will, with her hand in his instead of against a pillow. “He has the time of his life every time he visits at one of my shows.”

    “I think everyone does.”

 

_ We can just dance to this, _

_ Don’t take much to start me _

_ We can just dance to this, _

_ Push up on my body _

 

They’re dancing again, this time to a more upbeat pop song, and Riley’s smiling so hard it hurts. Will spins her before pulling her closer, chest to chest, and he can’t help but wonder why they don’t do this more often. 

    “We should,” she says, as soon as his thought enters her mind. He smiles down at her, gaze easy and practically angelic, and it’s a beautiful sight. Her mind wanders to how life was a year ago, when they were constantly on edge and paranoid over Whispers ruining any potential moment they may have been lucky enough to have together. Now, they’re free, safe and allowed to live the way they deserve to, and she’s  _ so goddamn happy about it.  _

She rises up on her toes to press a brief, spontaneous kiss to his lips, and before she gets too distracted she twists around, pushing her back to his chest. She relishes in the way his arms wrap around her waist, and she sways her hips just enough for him to feel it, while keeping her movements calculated. She can feel him sigh against her neck, and begin tucking her short hair behind her ear. His fingertips skim against that spot that always drives her crazy, and she knows his lips will follow. She doesn’t bother suppressing a giggle when they do, or when his fingers drum to the rhythm against her hipbones, or when his teeth scrape ever so slightly against her earlobe and she stumbles on his shoes. 

  
  


_ Under the kitchen lights, you still look like dynamite _

_ And I wanna end up on you _

 

He’s teasing her just as much as she’s teasing him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t adore how she’s the one that’s more overwhelmed now, especially when she started this. But they’re in the kitchen now, slipping in their socks on the linoleum, and they’re laughing as much as they’re giving each other eyes that explicitly scream how they both this night to end. 

The song ends, transitioning quickly into the next, but Will stops, grabs them glasses of water. There’s still a spring in his step, goofy and adorable, and Riley wonders for a brief second if Lito is visiting again. 

    “How can you look so beautiful, even after dancing for two hours straight, in this awful kitchen that desperately needs renovating?” Will says in that voice that always makes her melt, and she leans into his shoulder as she sips the water. 

    “I think I’m more in love with you than I’ve ever been,” she says in response, “and that’s saying a lot, considering twenty minutes ago I was thinking the same thing.”

 

_ Dear, beloved _

_ Bring those 501’s a bit closer, bit closer _

 

His hand is on her cheek, lips finding her mouth before she can say anything else, and in seconds he has his arms around her waist, lifting her up as she slings her legs around his middle. She blindly sets her drink down on the counter and she’s pretty sure she spills it, but neither of them can care when the bass pounds around them just as loud as their hearts do.

Will pins her to the wall a few times on the way to the bedroom, distracted as she nips kisses down his throat, and it only encourages her. She tries to tug his shirt off, but given their positioning, that doesn’t work out well and it ends up getting caught around his chin. Riley laughs, forehead falling to Will’s shoulder, and he sets her down so that he can get rid of the fabric between them.

She pulls her own shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly to the floor somewhere in the kitchen.  _ Tomorrow’s laundry,  _ she thinks distractedly as Will captures her lips in another kiss and her hands tuck into the back pockets of his jeans. 

They move gradually into the bedroom, discarding clothes on the way in; all the while the music keeps playing in the background. Riley works on the buckle of his pants, struggling with distraction as his hands skim along her thighs. She watches as the faded 501’s fall to the floor, an then says, “you know, I like those jeans.”

He arches his eyebrows at her. “Yeah?”

She nods, and can’t keep down the mischievous smile that plays at the edge of her lips. “Yeah, but I like them a lot better when they'e on the floor.” 

Will tilts his head at her, impressed, and Riley can feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. 

    “Get in here,” he murmurs, leading her hastily into the bedroom and shutting the door, even though they live alone. It's a habit, mainly done to let the others in their cluster know they're intruding on private moments, but it never really does any good since they're in each other's heads, after all. Riley climbs onto the bed, grinning as Will follows, and as his lips trip down her body, she can’t even focus on the music. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, let me know in the comments or at my Tumblr account under the same username as here! I'm always in the mood to cry over how soft and adorable Riley and Will (and everyone else in Sense8) are. I'm also always taking fic requests!


End file.
